


Sharing

by bronzemist



Series: Peapod McHanzo Week 2018 [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Hanzo Shimada has Prothestic Legs, M/M, Peapod McHanzo Week, Pining Jesse McCree, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, blizzard can fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 14:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13238055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronzemist/pseuds/bronzemist
Summary: for Day 1 ofaughtpunkandwyntera's peapod McHanzo week.The Dorado safehouse only has one bed, which means Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada are going to have to get closer than they're used to...





	Sharing

Hanzo scowls at Jesse. He scowls back, crossing his arms. Hanzo does the same. There's a repetitive metallic sound which tells Jesse that the other man is tapping his prosthetic foot against the floor impatiently.

"Sugar..." Jesse sighs eventually.

"I am not the one who was recently shot," Hanzo repeats himself, scowl deepening. "I will sleep on the floor, you will take the bed."

"Either we both sleep on the floor, or we both sleep on the bed." Jesse says, wishing – and not for the first time – that this safehouse had a pullout couch. Or any furniture at all beyond the bed they were currently arguing about.

Not that sharing a bed with Hanzo is such a terrible proposition; it certainly isn't to Jesse at least. But tension is visible in every tightly-wound muscle of Hanzo's body, and his knuckles are white where he's gripping Stormbow.

It wasn't anything personal against him, Jesse knows. It had taken a while for Hanzo to loosen up, to let anyone in except Genji, but by now he and Jesse got along pretty well. In fact, Jesse didn't feel he was exaggerating in thinking that Hanzo liked him more than he liked most of the other members of the recalled Overwatch.

No, it isn't the prospect of sharing a bed with Jesse that has Hanzo so tense. It's the prospect of sharing a bed, period.

Hanzo had spent ten years alone. Jesse knows, from tipsy late-night conversations with the other man on the roof of the Watchpoint, that during those ten years Hanzo'd pretty much only touched other people when he'd been fighting them. It was one of the reasons he'd taken so long to adjust to being part of Overwatch.

People like Tracer, Reinhardt, hell, even Jesse himself – they were all physically affectionate folks. Handshakes, slaps on the back, hugs, all of it was normal amongst the old guard, and most of the newbies had adapted to it quickly. Except Hanzo.

Even now, months later, he still flinched when someone patted his shoulder or touched his arm. Most of them had learned to respect this aversion and give Hanzo his space, but Jesse couldn't help wondering if that was really the best thing to do.

Well, it looks like he's about to find out.

"It's too small." Hanzo protests.

"No it ain't." Says Jesse, a little more sharply than he'd intended. But damn it, he's tired, there's an irritating twinge in his side from his bullet wound, and all he wants to do is kick off his boots and lay down. "Christ, darlin', we're both dead on our feet and we've gotta be up bright and early tomorrow for pickup. Can we just go to bed?"

To an outsider, Hanzo would have appeared unmoved, but Jesse could see him wavering. He takes a risk and lets his arms drop, shoulders with them – shows Hanzo just how tired he really is.

The gambit pays off. Tension washes out of Hanzo's frame as he gives in. "Very well."

"Much obliged, sweetpea."

The tiny room is silent as the two men begin stripping off some of their layers. Jesse toes off his boots, tossing them in a corner along with his belt and gloves. Peacekeeper he carefully places under one of the pillows. His hat and body armour join the rest of his belongings in the corner.

On the other side of the bed, Hanzo has already placed his quiver and Stormbow against the wall. Jesse watches out of the corner of his eye as the other man briefly hesitates before reaching up and pulling the ribbon from his hair. Smooth, ink black hair brushes well-toned shoulders and Jesse's mouth goes a bit dry. He looks away.

This may end up being more difficult than he thought.

Though he hates sleeping in jeans, Jesse has a feeling that Hanzo would flee outright if he took them off, so he resigns himself to the discomfort and sits down on the right side of the bed. Hanzo has left on most of his clothes as well, but hovers at the bedside, indecision clear on his face.

"Lie down, sugar, I don't bite," says Jesse, keeping his tone light.

It feels like a victory when Hanzo finally gives in, gingerly joining him in the bed. He turns off the lone lamp in the room before he does, leaving the room only dimly lit by the streetlights outside.

Jesse settles himself as comfortably as he can. It's quite warm at night in Dorado this time of year, but he tugs the thin comforter up to his waist anyway. On the other side of the bed, Hanzo is lying ramrod straight on his back. The tension in his shoulders is back, and Jesse sighs internally.

"Relax, would ya?" He says. "You're wound tighter than your damn bowstring."

He can't exactly see it, but he can certainly feel the glare Hanzo gives him in response. In spite of that, the archer breathes out, and some of the tension goes with it. It's not perfect, but Jesse'll take what he can get.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. He really is tired, and still healing from his injury. He can hear Hanzo fidgeting, hopefully trying to get comfortable. Jesse wants to reach out, but ignores the impulse. He knows the touch would be unwelcome.

He's drifting in a state of half-consciousness when he feels the comforter move and hears a metal foot touch the floor.

"Don't even think about it," he grumbles, accent thicker than usual. There's no response, but he senses Hanzo's sudden stillness.

Jesse reaches out and grabs his hand, tired of this. Hanzo flinches, but doesn't try to pull away. Jesse tugs him back onto the bed, not releasing his hand until he feels Hanzo pull the comforter back up over his legs.

"Now stay put, for the love of God."

"Very well," Hanzo replies, voice quiet.

Jesse forces himself to stay awake a while longer, but there are no more escape attempts. He eventually drifts off, hoping that Hanzo will still be there in the morning.

 

When Jesse opens his eyes, the room is dark and quiet, and there's a warm body pressed tight to his chest, their legs tangled in his own. A glance at the old, solar-powered clock on the windowsill tells him it's close to 4 am.

As his eyes adjust, he can make out Hanzo, the other man's hands tightly gripping his flannel. Jesse's own hands are wrapped around Hanzo, flesh hand tangled in his hair, prosthetic resting dangerously close to that well-toned ass.

Jesse feels frozen in place. He's never even come close to touching Hanzo like this before; at most he's clapped the other man on the back after a mission gone well. Should he remove his hands? Put some separation between them? Turn so his back is to Hanzo?

The archer sighs in his sleep, a small, soft sound, and presses his face into the curve of Jesse's neck.

Conscious, Hanzo may be touch-averse, but unconscious he's clearly desperate for it. Jesse can indulge him. Besides... he's not exactly opposed to having the chance to hold Hanzo in his arms.

Jesse melts. He moves his metal hand further up Hanzo's back, just to be safe, but leaves his flesh hand where it is. Hanzo's hair is as silky as he's always imagined, and Jesse indulges himself in winding a lock between his fingers.

He forcibly pushes away the thought that this may be the only chance he'll ever have to do this. Hanzo has made it very clear that he's not interested in a relationship, and Jesse will not jeopardize their friendship for the sake of his own feelings. If this is all he ever gets, well, so be it.

He lets his eyes drift shut, sleep calling him still. He imagines a world where Hanzo wants him back, where he wakes up like this every morning. It's a hopeless dream, but a nice one nevertheless.

 

The next time Jesse wakes, the safehouse is bathed in sunlight streaming through the tiny, grimy windows. Somehow Hanzo has gotten even closer during the night – he can feel his breath against his ear and a metal heel digging into his calf muscle.

Jesse is sorely tempted to stay like this. Hanzo fits so perfectly in his arms, and looks so damn pretty with the sunlight on him... but if he wakes up and finds them like this, Jesse knows Hanzo'll spend the next month avoiding him out of embarrassment.

So, regretfully, he disentangles them and slides out of the bed. He takes a second to memorize Hanzo, still sleeping and reaching out into the space Jesse'd left, and then turns away. They've got a few hours before pickup. He can let Hanzo sleep a little bit longer.

Beyond the bedroom, the safehouse has nothing except a tiny washroom and an equally tiny kitchen-living room combination. Jesse rummages through the cupboards, but there's nothing to eat but long-expired boxes of cereal and a few questionable cans of beans.

He decides to take the risk of running down the street to a nearby café, getting himself a coffee and muffin, and a tea and fruit salad for Hanzo. When he returns to the safehouse, Hanzo is just as he left him, sleeping peacefully in the middle of the bed.

The temptation to take a picture, or climb back into bed with him, is strong, but Jesse resists. Hanzo deserves his privacy, and besides, someone needs to be ready for when Tracer calls. So instead, he sits at the tiny kitchen table and eats his muffin.

Half an hour later, Jesse hears light metal footsteps from the bedroom. The door opens, and he listens, head down, as Hanzo enters the kitchen.

"Good morning," Hanzo says. "Where did you get the coffee?"

"Café down the street," Jesse replies. "Here, I got you something too." He pushes the tea and fruit across the table to Hanzo.

"Thank you."

They sit in silence while Hanzo eats and Jesse finishes his coffee. He can't stop remembering how Hanzo looked last night, cuddled against his chest, hands locked in his shirt to prevent him getting away.

Jesse internally gives himself a shake. What happened last night, while sleeping, is not a reflection of Hanzo's non-existent feelings for him. It was the unconscious actions of a touch-starved man seeking the comfort of another human being. He can hold on to the memories, but he needs to remember that in reality, he and Hanzo are friends and colleagues, nothing more.

No matter how much Jesse wishes it were otherwise.

**Author's Note:**

> took a bit of a break from the Star Trek AU to write some fluffy McHanzo stuff :) i'm trying to enjoy myself as much as i can before i head back to uni in a week
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at [bronzemist](http://bronzemist.tumblr.com/)


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